


Try, Die Again

by Croik



Category: Ready or Not (2019)
Genre: F/M, Time Loop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:15:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21812791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Croik/pseuds/Croik
Summary: After the dust settles, Grace awakens to find herself exactly where she started, with a card in her hand, ready to play again. But this time will be different; for both their sakes, it will have to be. Time Loop AU.
Relationships: Daniel Le Domas/Grace Le Domas
Comments: 47
Kudos: 937
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Try, Die Again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [arbitrarily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arbitrarily/gifts).



Grace Le Domas thumped onto the mansion steps while the family she had always wanted burned behind her. They were little more than blood at that point, but still. Family.

She pinched her cigarette between bruised and bloodied fingers, which were remarkably steady, all things considered. She took a long breath of smoke tainted by the darker smoke behind her and marveled that she didn’t feel much of anything, actually. Maybe that was the shock, she thought. Any moment now the whole night of horror would catch up to her, and she’d be a mess of whole new traumas. Whoopee.

There had to have been worse weddings somewhere in history. Right? Entire family lines wiped out, a fortune cut adrift in a matter of hours. Maybe she’d even get blamed for it all and spend her honeymoon in prison. Grace twisted the cigarette idly in her fingers, wondering.

But it wasn’t a cigarette anymore. It was a card. She glanced down and found a weathered playing card tucked between her fingers where the cigarette had been, bearing three words in black ink: _HIDE AND SEEK_.

Grace lifted her head. She wasn’t sitting on the steps anymore—she was in the trophy room, seated around the pentagram table. Her hands were clean and intact, and all around her, watching with wary anticipation, sat every one of the recently departed Le Domases, significantly more corporeal than she had seen them last. Their eyes were fixed on the card in her hand.

Grace looked around her, taking in the room, the too familiar faces, the unblemished state of her dress. Everything was as it had been six hours ago, and without any means of making sense of it, all she could do was laugh.

Next to her, Alex all but vibrated. The rest of the family exchanged long, searching looks. Grace just laughed, and it wasn’t until she glanced across the table and found Daniel staring directly at her that her throat finally closed around her humor. The low-burning horror behind his sullen eyes gut-punched her with the realization that he knew what was about to happen, that what had happened _had_ happened, and this was happening now, _again_.

“Wait,” said Grace, the grin decomposing off her face as Alex pushed to his feet.

“So, we play hide and seek,” he said. “Those are the rules. Right, Dad?”

Tony stood as well, and Grace could already see the mania twitching at the corners of his eyes she had somehow missed the first time around. “Yes, those are the rules,” he agreed.

Everyone pushed to their feet. “Wait,” Grace said again, panic like bile rising in her throat. “No—fuck that, this isn’t fair! I already won!”

The family regarded her with confusion, and for a moment Grace was paralyzed with the same herself. The mad chase through the house had seemed so insane at the time—was it possible it was too much to have happened? Was it all some dream or hallucination she’d indulged in, fueled by a long day of too much champagne Saran-wrapped in a wedding dress? But no—her eyes caught Daniel’s again, his face a shadow-play of tragedy to come.

“It’s all right,” Alex said quietly, urgently, close to her ear. He took her gently by the elbows and her skin crawled as his palms sweated through the lace. “Meet me in my room.” 

“The rules are simple,” declared Tony. “You can hide anywhere inside the house. We then count to one hundred and try to find you.” He smiled at her. “Good luck.”

Alex let her go, and for a moment Grace stumbled over her own feet, disoriented and still half in denial. Then she ran, childish voices singing _Run, run run_ at her heels.

Grace booked it as fast as she could back to Alex’s room. “This is bullshit!” she hissed under her breath, over and over, as she threw her pumps off and yanked on her high tops. “Pure bullshit, Le Bail! You know I won!”

Her phone was already missing, the land line was dead—the house was already on lock down. Grace ripped her dress at the knees and tried to recall her steps the first time. Whatever was happening or how, she had survived once—she could do it again. She wouldn’t make the same mistakes. All she had to do was survive until dawn.

Grace did a search of the room, but there wasn’t anything that could be used as a weapon against a family full of guns and crossbows. Just as she headed for the servant’s passage out of the room, she heard footsteps clacking down the hall. Clara, the maid, was calling for Georgie.

Grace’s heart clawed up her throat, and without thinking she headed for the door. She could grab Clara and drag her inside—just enough to get her head out of the path of a bullet. Maybe even—

Clara entered the doorway, and she looked to Grace, curious and expectant, just before the .45 split her skull open. 

A thin scream left Grace’s throat before she could stop it. She hated herself for that; even after everything she’d been through, watching a stranger’s eye explode in a splash of gore still twisted that traitorous yelp out of her. Somewhere down the hall, coke-head Emilie squealed in triumph and Grace turned inside to flee, only to run directly into Alex.

“Grace,” he said hurriedly. He started to tug her on, but Grace didn’t need his guidance; she shoved him back into the passage and they fled together through the walls.

It was all real. Some part of her had still been clinging to the idea that it was only a harmless children’s game that her imagination alone had made monstrous. She didn’t know whether to laugh or curse as they scraped their elbows on the narrow corridors in their escape; she hadn’t won anything, she was just in Hell.

“I’m sorry,” Alex gasped out as he drew them to a halt. “I’m sorry I didn’t warn you, but there’s no time to explain now. I have to get you out of here.”

Grace stared at him. He looked so concerned, sweat on his brow and hands shaking as he urged her to lean against the wall as if _she_ needed steadying. But Grace remembered everything, and how dare he look sincere— _how dare he_ look so much like the man she’d fallen in love with, when she knew very well how this ridiculous marriage of theirs was about to end.

“The whole house is on lock down, so it’s going to be tricky,” Alex continued on script. “I’m going to head to the security room to unlock the doors. Follow this path out and you can get to the service kitchen; there’s an outside door there.”

Grace continued to stare at him. How was she supposed to feel? She wanted to vomit all over his lying face, but when she met his eyes, so full of determination and guilt, her throat clenched so tightly she could barely breathe let alone puke.

“You can make it, if you’re quick.” Alex paused then, and he touched her face—hands hot and familiar against her skin. “Grace, are you listening? Are you all right? I know this seems insane, but...”

Grace swallowed down whatever twenty emotions were blazing under her tongue and nodded. “I’ll meet you outside the service kitchen,” she said. She held still as Alex kissed her forehead, and they split up to run.

At the end of the passage, Grace forced herself to stop. Rather than blunder out into the hall as she had before, she instead made her way directly to the trophy room that had started it all. Her gaze went instinctively to the elephant gun and she flipped it off on her way to a more sensible rifle. After loading up on as much _live_ ammo as she could carry, she listened at the door for a clear moment and set off again.

“Where the fuck was the kitchen?” Grace muttered to herself, but then she passed the study, and a shift of movement halted her.

Daniel. He had a rifle much like hers, but his was strewn across the pool table, having been traded for a glass of whiskey he was downing. Poor Daniel. He looked a fucking mess, clothes rumpled and tie undone, sweat in his dark, curly hair, and bags under his narrow eyes. At least Grace understood so much better now why he’d been trying to drink himself into a stupor all day. If only they could both suck down whiskey until they blacked out and wake up the next morning, nightmare over.

Slinging the rifle over her shoulder, Grace marched into the study and stole the glass out of Daniel’s hand. He stopped, staring at her in bewilderment as she poured herself a drink—not much more than a sip, just enough for the burn to calm her frayed nerves. She swallowed it down and planted the glass on the pool table with a clang.

“I need your help,” she told Daniel, who continued to stare dumbly back at her, “and you’re going to help me.”

“I can’t,” said Daniel wearily. “I’m not—”

“You _are_ going to help me, because you did once already,” Grace talked over him. “And it really fucking sucks that you don’t remember, because it sure would be nice to skip the part where you bash my skull in with a rifle.”

“Wha…” Looking ever more confused by the second, Daniel glanced past her to make sure no one was approaching from the hallway. In better circumstances she might have found his furrowed brow cute. “Why would I hit you with a rifle instead of shooting you?”

“Right—see? Because you don’t…” Grace paused, struggling to remember his exact words. “Because you don’t want to be the one that serves me up,” she finished, and Daniel flinched, spooked. “But not helping me is _exactly_ the same thing, do you understand? I _know_ you, Daniel, and you’re _not_ going to let me die, because you’re better than the rest of them.”

Footsteps echoed down the hall, growing closer; Grace grabbed Daniel by the front of his shirt and pushed, driving the both of them deeper into the study so that they couldn’t be spotted through the open door. Daniel offered no resistance; he was still staring at her, mystified and guilt-stricken, struggling to collect his drunken wits. Just when Grace feared he was too far gone to help her after all, he suddenly took her by the waist and drew her to the wall.

“I can’t help you,” he said, stumbling over the words. His fingers were hot and clinging, and when he met her eyes, they gleamed with pained sincerity. “I’m sorry—I’m not that person. “If anyone’s going to get you out, it’s Alex.”

Grace’s chest burned, and she squeezed Daniel’s arm tight at the elbow. “I’m not asking Alex,” she said, hating how her voice shook. “I’m asking _you_.”

Daniel took in a slow breath and held it. After a long moment of conflict, each of them sweating beneath the other’s clammy palms, he reached behind him to open the servant’s corridor.

“Follow this to the last door on the left,” he said urgently. “The _left_. It’ll take you to the service kitchen—there’s an outside door.”

“Come with me,” Grace insisted, but Daniel was already shaking his head.

“Just go,” he said, the strength coming back into his hands as he pushed her into the passage. “Go, hurry!”

Grace cursed under her breath, but there was no use delaying any longer; she raced down the corridor, knowing that at any moment Daniel would be shouting a warning to the rest of his family. It took longer than she thought it did the last time, but she could hear him even through the walls.

“She’s heading for the music room!” Daniel shouted, and Grace’s heart pounded all over again. He’d lied for her. That was an improvement, right? It spurred her on.

When Grace arrived in the service kitchen, the outside door was still locked, but she wasn’t worried. She put her back to the door and faced inward, rifle aimed toward anyone who would try to enter. Just on time, Stevens the butler opened the door barely a minute later. Grace put a bullet through his head.

Her heart skipped a beat at the blast, the stock dug into her shoulder, her hands shook with the vibration. Just a little squeeze and that sick-smirking asshole was dead on the tile. It wasn’t so hard, Grace thought. He’d planned worse for her anyway. Right?

Grace turned to the door. The lock had disengaged, and she threw it off and launched herself outside as fast as she could. She knew better, now—no barn, no circling around the house, just run. Just _run_. With the rifle hard in her grip she sprinted across the open lawn and then into the sparse trees that separated the house from the street. She’d gotten out faster than before, gotten out _cleaner_ than before, there was no way that Le Bail could say she hadn’t won.

Grace reached the tall iron fence surrounding the Le Domas estate and leapt onto the rungs. The metal was cold against her hands but it was a hell of a lot easier to climb without a fucking hole through her palm, and she took her time to scale the bars and squeezed through to the other side. The prongs ripped through her dress and took some skin with it, but before long she was out, and free, and running down the street away from the house.

Every car on the street couldn’t be driven by a rich asshole with no morals, could it? Grace held tight to her rifle, determined that she could hijack a car by gunpoint if she had to. The police would chalk that up to extenuating circumstances, for sure. When high beams blared down the street toward her, she hid the gun against her side. Maybe she could catch whoever it was off guard if she had to.

The car slowed next to her, and a too familiar face leaned out of the driver’s side window.

“Grace,” said Alex, motioning her forward. “Get in.”

Grace rooted her feet to the ground, planted the rifle stock to her shoulder. Seeing her resolve, Alex cautiously opened his door and stepped out. “Grace, it’s me,” he tried again, eyebrows slanted in that perfect, puppy-dog concern she used to find so charming. “I promise I’m not gonna hurt you—I’m here to get you out.”

Grace swallowed. A year and a half had felt like a long time, once; now it was so easy to think back on every single moment, every look, every promise broken and kept, every fight and every orgasm. He came toward her with hands out and placating, this great big rich dork she had fallen in love with, and thought of his hands crushing her throat. But she couldn’t pull the trigger.

“It’s okay,” Alex said gently, and when he pushed the muzzle of the rifle down, she didn’t fight him. “Grace, it’s okay—we’re out. We made it. Let’s go home.”

Grace relented, and he pulled her into his arms for a tight and reassuring hug. Not long ago she had watched him burst like a balloon full of cranberry juice and laughed, and when she dug her fingers into his back, she half expected him to do the same now. But this Alex hadn’t lost his brother yet, hadn’t watched her beat his mom to death, and he was as strong and firm as she needed him to be.

They got into the car and sped away. Grace never let go of the gun entirely, even when they were miles away hunkered down in a motel parking lot, the first glow of sunrise on the horizon. They sat side by side, neither having any clue what to say.

“I can’t believe you killed Stevens,” Alex spoke up at last. 

“He was going to kill me,” Grace said immediately, and seeing her grip tighten on the gun, Alex was quick to try again.

“I don’t blame you—I really don’t. It’s just...crazy.” Alex smoothed his hair back, smearing a trickle of blood that he had not yet volunteered an explanation for. “I saw it happen on the camera. You didn’t even hesitate.”

Grace prickled all over. That sick feeling was in her stomach, just like when Alex had caught her in the study with Le Bail’s fucking puzzle box clenched tight in bloody fingers. “I can’t believe your sister shot a maid.”

“Yeah.” Alex blinked as if remembering for the first time, and abruptly the breath rushed out of him in a sound like laughter. “Jesus, her aim sucks.”

Grace snorted, and they look to each other, a terrible, morbid humor passing between them. When Alex opened his hand against the seat, Grace only hesitated a moment before taking it. 

Daylight was growing stronger. Grace tried not to notice, focusing just on Alex, and the easy, boyish smile trying to form on his lips. “I know it’s all fucked up,” he said with quiet sincerity. “I don’t know what happens now, I really don’t. But I’m going to protect you, Grace, I swear it. Whatever my family says or does now, I’m going to take care of you. I promise.”

Grace stared back at him. She was a silly fool and she wanted so badly to believe him. “Okay,” she said, squeezing his hand.

The sun rose, and Alex exploded into chunky blood.

The next thing Grace knew, she was back in the trophy room, the letters _HIDE AND SEEK_ staring defiantly up at her from a playing card.

Grace stared at it for a long time as Alex and his father kept to the script. Anger and hurt bubbled up inside her, popping against the inside of her skin like roiling magma, until it poured out of her in a furious, wordless shout, and she tore the card into shreds.

The Le Domases watched, unsure if they were meant to stop her. Tony started to speak but then stopped himself a few times while Helene growled, “Blasphemy,” under her breath. When the card was in tiny pieces, Grace scattered them across the table and stood from her chair with such force that it clattered to the floor. 

When she lifted her head, it was Daniel’s gaze she found first, and as they stared at each other an understanding seemed to pass between them. He already knew what was going to happen; this time she wanted him to know that _she_ knew, too. The revelation wilted him in his chair.

“Hide and seek,” Grace declared to the still confused and speechless room. “Start fucking counting.”

Grace plowed out of the trophy room and down the hall, her heels echoing loudly and dress swishing behind her. “Le Bail!” she hollered as she marched, _clack clack clack_ , down the hall straight to the dining room. “Le Bail, you ball-less coward fuck, get the fuck out here!”

She threw open the doors and stormed down the long oakwood table, to the head seat that stood in front of the fireplace. There was no real reason to think that she would find him there, but she sure as hell hadn’t seen him anywhere else. “Le Bail,” she demanded, and she kicked the chair back from the table so she could face “him” dead on. “What the _fuck_ is your problem?”

Grace wasn’t sure if she really expected an answer; one could only expect that the Devil, having trapped his hapless victim in a circular hell-trap, would be less than willing to recant or explain himself. But then the fire in the hearth flared, and the flickering orange and acrid smoke formed the shape of a man.

“What’s the matter, Grace?” asked Le Bail, and his voice crackled like the logs snapping in the fireplace. “You’re not enjoying the game?”

“It’s not a _game_ if there’s no winning,” Grace retorted. There was a good chance he would splatter her across the walls, but she was too angry to let that concern touch her: angry toward herself as much as her tormentor, for having believed for even a moment she might still deserve a happily ever after. “The rules were ‘survive until dawn,’ and I’ve done that, twice, so what the fuck am I doing back here?”

Le Bail leaned back in his chair and smirked up at her, smug and insufferable. “Those were the rules,” he agreed. “ _Were_ the rules.”

Grace quaked, her nails biting into her palm. “You cheating shithead.”

“I’ve enjoyed watching you play,” Le Bail drawled on, “and I _want_ you to win, Grace, I really do. Win in the truest sense of it.” He grinned at her, showing teeth. “Good luck.”

“Can’t you at least—” Grace started to say, but with another roar of flame Le Bail was gone. She hollered as she kicked the now empty chair over. “Mother _fucker!_ ”

“Blasphemy,” growled Aunt Helene, and Grace whipped around, startled to find all the Le Domases watching her from the dining room entrance. Each was glaring at her in confusion and unease, but it was Daniel that stepped forward first, moving with swift purpose in stark contrast to his drunkenness. He took her by the waist just as he had back in the study, and though his hands were clammy and shaky, she felt a pulse of fresh strength go through her.

“Grace,” he said, hushed and urgent, “did you see him?”

Grace swallowed, uncertain what to make of his sudden intensity. “Yeah,” she whispered back. “Yeah, I saw that son of a bitch.”

Daniel leaned back, ghosts in his face, and it didn’t take much prodding from Alex to get him to let her go. “Grace, are you okay?” Alex asked her, trying to draw her in. She swayed dizzily and braced her fists to his chest to keep from being reeled in too close. “What were you yelling about?”

“He must have warned her,” grumbled Aunt Helene. She was already holding an axe. “She knows what’s coming for her.”

“Everyone just calm down,” said Becky, sweeping forward. She urged Grace away from both brothers, her smile sweet and mothering, but when Grace looked at her all she could see was streams of thick blood pouring from a head-wound. “It’s been a very long day, and we’re asking a lot of Grace. Let’s go back and all have a drink to calm down before we play.”

Grace allowed the woman to lead her only a few steps before her wits came stuttering back. “No,” she said firmly, pushing Becky’s hands off her. “No, we have to start the game now.”

“It’s okay,” said Alex, trying again to offer comforting hands. “Let’s go back to the room for a quick breather.”

“ _No_.” Grace pushed him away, too. Her mind was racing and she didn’t want anyone touching her. “No, I—I want to play. The rules are we start at midnight, right?” She shoved past the rest of the family and out into the hallway. “Go put the thingie back on and start counting—we have to get started.”

“Grace!” Alex called after her, but she paused only long enough to wave for him to carry on before running back to their room.

 _In the truest sense_ , Le Bail had said. Grace grabbed up her high tops and then immediately left again, waiting until she was in another of the _empty_ bedrooms to change into them. She would have liked to change out of her wedding dress entirely, but it would take too long to get out of the damn thing, so she settled with once again shearing off most of the skirt. She shoved the evidence under the bed and then set off again for the opposite wing of the house while the record player blared overhead.

 _Stay hidden until dawn_ , Tony had said. In the truest sense, that meant _stay hidden—_ not to be seen by _anyone_ , maybe not even by Alex. Grace scowled as she made her way to the conservatory toward the rear of the mansion. 

“Especially Alex,” she muttered under her breath, determined that she would not fall for his wide brown eyes ever again.

The conservatory was eerie in the dead of night; strange plants Grace had never seen sat in great ceramic pots throughout, some with twisted branches, others splayed leaves. She had only had the chance to visit the room once over the course of the wedding planning, but she remembered that it had more than one way in, and there were plenty of weirdly-shaped ornaments to hide behind. Even with dull moonlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows, she was confident she could keep to the shadows and escape out one exit or the other if someone came looking. 

Grace hunkered down behind and oversize planter, trying to make herself as small as possible. Running around the unfamiliar house hadn’t worked for her so far, so it was time to try a new strategy—staying quiet, staying still, staying invisible. For the next six fucking hours.

The first two passed without incident. Fitch and Emilie moved through at one point, and Grace took from the latter’s whimpering that at least one of the maids had fallen victim to her already. She felt a bit guilty about that, but only for a moment; if staying out of their way wasn’t enough to save the poor girls, their fates were probably far out of her hands.

There was no way of telling accurate time in the conservatory, but Grace guessed it was almost four in the morning, when the voices moving about the house were growing louder and more anxious, that she heard Alex calling for her.

“Grace!” He was storming down the hall toward her, too sure of himself in his step to not know where she was. Panic drove her out of hiding, and she rushed through the other exit, into one of the servants’ corridors. She fled as quietly as she could, but Alex was gaining on her, shouting for her to wait.

Grace threw herself through the nearest door and felt it slam into someone who had been just on the other side. There wasn’t time to consider who—she just kept running, until a gun went off much too close, and she felt a horrible, burning pain stab into her left shoulder blade. 

It wasn’t the first time Grace had been shot, but it was so much worse. She felt the bullet shatter against bone, felt the bone shatter against her lung. She tried to force her legs to still carry her, but the strength went out of her so fast, and within seconds her breath was full of blood. With a strangled cry she stumbled into the wall and then dropped to her knees, quaking all over.

“Jesus Christ! What the hell are you doing?”

“I got her! I got her! Fucking finally.”

Grace lifted her head, and though her vision was already smearing with pained tears, she could make out Daniel pushing Charity back. Her face was twisted in sickening triumph which quickly shifted into worry as Alex stormed out of the servant’s corridor. He took in the scene and went pale.

“Grace!” Alex rushed over to her, and it wasn’t until his hand against her chest sent her body screaming that she realized the bullet had gone straight through her. Blood was soaking her from all sides and Alex’s clumsy attempts to staunch it weren’t amounting to much. “Oh God, oh fuck, what the fuck did you do!”

“She was getting away!” Charity protested. “What was I _supposed_ to do!”

Grace shuddered, leaning forward to try and hack the blood out of her throat. Her fingers were already going numb. “Fucking...Bail…” she hissed, no strength left in her to fight as Alex started gathering her up in his arms. “Cheating _shit_ …”

Suddenly Daniel was there. Alex was becoming a blur but when Daniel wrapped his vest around her wounds, somehow the tremor in his hands skated down into her mangled chest, and she managed to stare straight back at him. He touched her face. 

“Did you really see him?” he asked, utterly sober, the intensity in his eyes drawing her into proper sense. “You _saw_ him?”

“Yeah,” Grace croaked, “and he’s...an asshole.” If she bled out before their damned ritual, she wanted at least someone to know that the Le Domases were still fucked, and the recognition that slid into Daniel’s furrowed brow signaled mission fucking accomplished.

He tightened the vest around Grace’s chest; she squirmed and gagged as coppery blood clogged her mouth. “Get her out of here,” he told Alex, helping him to gather Grace up. “Take my car—get her to a hospital.”

“No,” Charity said immediately. “No—what are you doing? We need to kill her!”

“ _No_ , we needed her _alive_ ,” Daniel retorted. “If it’s not a living sacrifice it doesn’t count.”

Alex pushed to his feet with Daniel’s help. His face was blank with panic. “It’s going to be okay,” he told Grace as he started off. “Hold on to me.”

“If she really saw Mr. Le Bail, then all of this is _real_ and if she leaves we are _all fucked_!” Charity continued to rant as she pursued them down the hall. Daniel struggled to keep himself between her and the fleeing couple. “You said that yourself! If she leaves, we’re all dead!”

Grace had to crane past Alex’s shoulder to watch them argue. She could see what was about to happen but the blood was too thick in her mouth to get the words out. “Dan—”

“Then it’s too late, and yeah, we’re all dead because of you!” Daniel hollered back, and Alex’s gait faltered. “And we fucking deserve it, but if we can save Grace at least it won’t be for nothing!”

Alex slowed to almost a halt, despite Grace yanking on his shirt. He stared down at Grace in his arms as Daniel and Charity continued to yell back and forth, and there it fucking was: that terrible, dead look of the man realizing there were some things he wouldn’t give up for the supposed love of his life. “Is it true?” he asked, and Grace wished she had the breath to scream at him. “It’s all real?”

Grace’s blood-slick lips twisted into a snarl of a grin. Now he knew, too. But before he could come to a decision, the gun went off again.

Grace braced herself; just as she’d expected, when Alex turned and saw Daniel hit the floor, blood gushing from a gunshot wound in his neck, he let her fall. She rattled with the impact and her legs went numb. As she watched Alex lean over his dying brother, desperately inconsolable, she felt her last pang of pity for the man. Maybe he had loved her as much as he claimed, but not _this_ much. She wasn’t the one he was willing to kill for, but at least there was someone he was. If a man could love his brother that much, maybe he wasn’t a total monster.

Grace snorted blood across the floor. Either way, it didn’t fucking matter. She took at least a little satisfaction in watching Alex lunge at Charity, the two of them struggling over the gun, knowing that ever-the-sticker Le Bail would still poof them into gory bits by morning. The last thing she saw as the life drained out of her was Daniel, eyes half dead already as he stared at her across the short space between them. She reached for him, and he reached back. Their red fingers touched, but hers were too numb to feel it.

And she died. At least, she had to assume she did. Everything darkened and crumpled and fell away. Then Grace once again opened her eyes to the trophy room, and the goddamn card, and the goddamn Le Domases staring at her.

She raised her head, and Daniel was staring at her, too, but something had changed. “Déjà vu,” he said, and Grace could have cried.

“Hide and seek,” said Alex, once again vibrating in restraint. “Those are the rules, right Dad?”

“I know the rules,” Grace interrupted him, pushing straight from her chair. “I’ve played before.” Daniel gave her an almost imperceptible nod, so she faced the assembly with a vicious smile. “Go ahead and start counting.”

Again to the room for her shoes, again with the dress, again with following the most direct and discreet path to the conservatory. “ _Run! Run! Run!”_ echoed through the halls. She followed the servant’s corridor to the hallway she had burst out of last time and there waited, all but holding her breath. It only took a few minutes before someone knocked lightly on the other side.

 _Please don’t be Alex_ , Grace thought, jaws clenched as she opened the door. 

Daniel stood there, confused and grim. She was starting to feel as if she’d known him and that face her whole life. “Am I going crazy,” he asked, “or have we done this already?”

“Oh thank fuck,” Grace whispered, and without thinking she threw her arms around him.

Daniel stumbled a little, unprepared, but once he recovered he hugged her back—a little too tightly, she thought, all things considered. A little too long. Then they both remembered the situation they were in, and he urged them back into the relative security of the passage.

“You remember, right?” Grace asked. She leaned back but kept her hands fisted in his shirt to keep him close; if she had only one ally in this fucking house, she wasn’t letting it get far away. “Fuck, I’m so glad you remember. How many times?”

“What?” Daniel shook his head. “I remember you screaming at Le Bail, and then we found you here and…” He trailed off, his eyes losing focus. “God. I think I died.”

“Twice,” Grace confirmed with maybe too much emphasis. “Charity shot the shit out of—”

She stopped herself, but by then Daniel’s face was already withering. It wasn’t surprise or even betrayal that twisted his features into something pained, but Grace felt it hard in her gut. She had to wonder if she had looked just like that when Alex put his hands around her neck. 

Daniel licked his lips, rallying himself. After a quick, paranoid look to the door behind them and then down the hall, he returned his full focus to Grace. His hands shook against her waist. “What did Le Bail say to you?”

Grace swallowed. How was it harder to tell him the truth than it had been pulling a trigger? “Daniel...I’ve done this four times now,” she admitted. “And every time you guys have lost, but...but that _fucker_ Le Bail, he said I didn’t win _enough_.” She shook her head in frustration. “He said he wanted me to win _in the truest sense_ , but I don’t know what the hell that means! If it’s not enough that I get away, and it’s not enough that I fucking _die_ , what is going to be enough?”

Daniel continued to furrow his brow in confusion, and she couldn’t really blame him; it sounded insane when she said it. “Then...it’s true?” he asked quietly, and Grace went as cold as when the bullet struck her. “All of it? If we let you go…”

Grace clenched her jaw and didn’t know how to answer. Her knuckles whitened against his chest, waiting for that moment that he would turn on her. After a few agonizing moments, he lowered his eyes. “Alex, too?”

“Y-Yeah.” Grace’s eyes stung but she forced the words out. “I’m sorry. I’ve tried to save him, I really have, but…”

When she couldn’t finish, Daniel faced her again, and he must have read the full answer in her face somehow. Maybe he knew his brother that well after all. “Okay,” he said, distantly, as if agreeing to someone other than her. He let her go, took a deep breath, rubbed his face. “Let’s get you out of here.”

He took her hand, and Grace shuddered, too wary to say another word. She allowed him to tug her out of the corridor and into the house proper, where he led the way silently to a rear door. By the time they reached it, a red error light gleamed on the electronic lock, and Grace did a quick scan of the room to spot the security camera above them.

“The cameras,” she breathed, kicking herself. “I fucking forgot. That’s how Alex found me last time.”

“And he’ll see you now, but at least you have a head start.” Daniel twisted the door open and motioned for her to go through. “Run straight from here and you can jump the fence in the Delacroix’s estate. They’re not quite as terrible as we are.”

Grace started to go through but then stopped. “I don’t know if this will be enough,” she told Daniel, cringing already at the thought of him splitting apart in a few hours, only to wake back up in the trophy room like her. “I think...I think I have to get through the whole night in the house, without being caught at all.”

“Everything’s monitored. The only way to avoid that is if you find a place before the cameras are switched back on and stay there.” Daniel frowned thoughtfully. “Or if no one’s able to turn them on at all.” With a sigh he motioned again for her to run. “Just go. If we start again, I’ll figure it out.”

“Thank you,” Grace said, hoping he could hear the _I’m sorry you’re about to die a horrific death_ behind it. “Thanks, Daniel.”

He must have, because he smirked. “Just try not to get arrested for our murders, okay?” he said, and he gave her a push that propelled her out.

Across the lawn, over the fence, into the next estate. Whatever Daniel thought of the Delacroixs, Grace didn’t trust anyone in the one percent to shelter her, so she found a gardening shed and curled up under the work bench, a pair of wicked shears clenched in her hands. She sat there, brimming with fiery defiance, until dawn gleamed through the grimy windows, and she woke up…

...in the fucking trophy room.

Grace crushed the card against her palm. Daniel started to stay something, but he caught himself, shaking his head. He remembered, and he knew where she could hide, but if he told her would that count as being caught?

“Trial and error it is,” Grace muttered, and the game began again.

She played another five times.

Twice, it was Alex who found her, not understanding that she didn’t want to be found. She had to watch the devotion in his face crumble into betrayal. Three times she managed to stay hidden almost until the end, only to be stumbled on at the final moment and have to run. Four times she watched Daniel be shot through the neck by his own wife, until his bloody gurgle ingrained itself on her ears. It was starting to feel like fate, and yet it didn’t stop him from trying, every time, to help her.

The fifth time, Grace circled back for a gun, shot the lock off the service kitchen exit, then slipped back through the hidden corridors to Alex’s room. Like a child she crawled under the bed and stayed there, eyes pressed shut and heart in her ears as she listened to the Le Domases move throughout the house. She didn’t hear when the busted lock was discovered, but she did hear Tony and Becky out on the lawn, arguing loudly over whether Grace had made it to the barn or beyond. As the hours ticked by, the focus on the house grew less and less, until she could hear the foundations creaking emptily. They had fallen for it.

“Please,” Grace whispered, tugging threads off her lace sleeves as she waited, alone, for the time to tick down. “Come on, Le Bail, this _has_ to work.”

She ended her night in silence except for a quiet _squelch_ coming from the children’s room, and awoke again, fuming, in the trophy room, card gripped so tight the paper edge dug beneath her fingernails.

Daniel looked exhausted, but he nodded, his eyes saying, _one more time._

They met in the corridor outside the conservatory again, crouched close together halfway between either exit and speaking in whispers.

“It’s not fucking working,” Grace hissed, trembling with frustrated fury. She burned for a cigarette and if there’d been the room for it, she would have been pacing. “That was as perfect as it’s going to get—no one saw me after we started, and the cameras—”

“The cameras were down the whole time,” Daniel confirmed wearily, seated across from her close enough that their legs tangled. “I cut through the power line before anyone could turn them on. No one saw you.”

“Then that’s not it.” Grace tugged her knees to her chest. “But what else is there? Lying sack of shit, how many times do I have to _win_?”

Daniel pulled a face, and she cringed. “Sorry,” she said quickly. “Christ, I’m sorry, I know how many times you’ve been killed by—”

Daniel gestured her quiet. “Don’t,” he said, and abruptly a wry grin twisted his mouth. “We all brought this on ourselves. I’m just as guilty as the rest of them.” He let his head fall back against the wall. “I let her become what she is.”

Grace debated with herself for a moment but then couldn’t stop herself from asking, “How did you ever marry that woman?”

Daniel surrendered a short, bitter laugh. “God, it’s a long story. She wasn’t always like that.” He sighed. “Well. I’m sure she was always capable of killing someone, I just didn’t think it’d ever be me, at the time.” His eyes crept almost shyly to Grace’s. “You remind me a lot of how she used to be.”

Grace snorted loudly, and Daniel chuckled as he waved for patience. She couldn’t remember if she’d ever heard him laugh before then, but it sounded good on him. “No, really,” he insisted. “She was _funny_ , once. And beautiful, and strong, and really fucking charming. She came out of nowhere and hit me like a truck.” He hesitated, his tone sobering with regret as he continued at a slower pace. “She felt like a way out, I guess. I’m sure Alex felt the same thing when he met you. But _I_ was her way _in_. And by the time I realized it…”

Daniel shrugged. “Oh well.”

Grace watched him over her folded arms, her chest tight with the full realization: Alex had been her way _in_ , too, when _he_ was looking for escape. But she couldn’t bring herself to sympathize with him the way she did Daniel now, not when only one of them would rather see her free than dead. Her emotions began to tangle, and they couldn’t afford that kind of complication on top of everything else, so she took a deep breath.

“Oh, very smooth,” Grace said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You think I’m ‘really fucking charming’, huh?”

Daniel relaxed into a smirk. “I wasn’t joking during the rehearsal, you know,” he teased back. “We still have time for a quickie.”

Grace didn’t expect to feel her heart skip at the invitation. Back when they were “Bride-to-Be” and “Drunken Brother-in-Law” his flirtatious overtures had been only a quarter flattering, mostly awkward, but she couldn’t deny the tiniest spark of attraction that first day Alex had introduced them. Even when Alex was her world, she remembered thinking how much more handsome Daniel would be if only he carried himself better.

A comment like his should have been met with a snappy response straight away, and Grace’s failure to deliver had Daniel’s eyebrows rising. She had no choice but to play it up, eyeing him in return to beat him at the game. The close quarters grew tense and almost stifling as the joke got a little less funny and more inviting with every beat that passed. Then Grace snorted again, loudly, and kicked his knees.

“Keep it in your pants, bud,” she snarked. “Technically it’s too late now because you’re still my brother and that’s weird.”

“Yeah,” Daniel said with such mock disappointment that she couldn’t tell how much _real_ disappointment was buried in it. Then he straightened, and Grace realized at the same time.

“Oh my god,” she breathed, and she vaulted to her feet. “Kill me.”

“What?” When Daniel was too slow getting up, so Grace grabbed his arm to drag him upright. “Are you serious?”

“I know what to do!” Grace dragged her wedding band off, grimacing as it yanked at her knuckle. Only a few hours and the damn thing already felt embedded. She threw it angrily down the corridor. “If we’re not married there’s no game. So come on.” Grace gestured to herself, fired up and eager to move on with her new plan. “Kill me so we can start over and get this over with.”

Daniel stared uneasily back at her, all traces of his earlier humor gone. “Just leave. I’ll distract the others—you can hide out at the Delacroix’s again until dawn.”

“That’s five hours from now—come _on_.” Grace patted herself down, but she had been so eager to meet that she hadn’t grabbed a weapon that time. “Fuck, I’m so sick of this. Can you please just kill me?” 

She grabbed Daniel’s hands and drew them to her neck, but there both of them froze. The frightened look in his eyes was so much like that of a child that it shattered all of Grace’s manic energy, and they stared at each other, breath held. Daniel flexed his hands; Grace felt herself gulp against the crook of his palm. Even the slight pressure shook his resolve so that his fingers went entirely slack, gentling against either side of her throat.

“I can’t,” Daniel said. “Please, just run.”

Grace didn’t know what to make of the pit in her stomach. “That psycho bitch is going to shoot your throat out again,” she warned, unable to put as much humor into it as she’d meant to.

“I’m getting used to it.” Daniel offered her a more earnest smile as his hands slid to her shoulders. “I’ve died for you half a dozen times already. What’s a few more?”

Grace’s heart gave another thump, and she caught herself holding her breath, maybe even leaning in. She shook herself and urged Daniel’s hands off her. “Shit, fuck, my standards are really down there, huh?” she said, turning to head out toward the hall.

Daniel followed. “Ow?”

“No—Not like _that_!” Grace heaved an embarrassed sigh as she reached the door. “I mean, hell, if after this some guy _not_ trying to kill me is enough to get me wet, I’m in real trouble.”

She glanced back just in time to see Daniel’s eyebrows shooting up again, and she scowled. “Don’t even. Come on, let’s run for it.”

Grace twisted the door open and charged out. She heard a shout at the end of the hall but didn’t look, instead racing away toward the exit that would carry her to another five hours of stressed hiding. She only made it a few steps before she heard Daniel shout, “No, wait!” and a rifle went off. The floor went _thud_.

Grace clenched her teeth, telling herself not to look back, but then she did anyway. Daniel lay in the center of the hall, his skull shot open and gushing, a horrified Tony gaping beyond. Becky was beside him, her bow drawn, but seeing Daniel thwarted her aim, and the arrow struck a vase along the wall as Grace turned forward again to run.

She would save Daniel next time, she thought. They’d all survive, and she’d tell the cops about the dead bodies in the goat barn without anyone knowing, and take them down that way. No one else would marry into the Le Domases. She’d save him next time—she couldn’t risk losing before then, not when she finally knew what to do. Even telling herself that, her heart twisted and chewed in her chest as Becky wailed behind her.

It was a harder-fought victory than some; as soon as she was out of the house she had to fight tooth and nail—literally—against Stevens the god damned butler. He pursued her all the way to the road and was struck dead by a passing car. As the asshole driver sped off Grace fled into the woods, again, and drew herself up into a tree and safety for the rest of the night. She had plenty of time to rehearse before waking up in the trophy room.

Grace opened her eyes to _HIDE AND SEEK_ and said, “I want an annulment.”

The family stared. As sick as she was of their blank shock at being asked to commit heinous murder, she took some pleasure from the different brand of surprise they fixed her with then. Casual as she pleased she tugged the wedding band from her finger and dropped it on the table in front of her.

“It hasn’t even been twelve hours,” Grace continued, ignoring Alex vibrating beside her. “And I signed the goddamn pre-nup like everyone wanted me to, which means I can just walk away.” She met Daniel’s gaze across the table; his lip turned up in smirk that she happily returned.

“Wait,” said Alex, and he looked very much like a squirrel about to get plowed over by a semi. “Grace.”

“The surest way to win is not to play at all, right?” Grace pushed to her feet, and the rest of the family did the same, exchanging baffled looks. Becky, Emilie, and Fitch looked relieved, Charity vaguely disappointed, Tony dumbfounded. Helene’s scowl never changed. “If being a part of this family means playing your stupid game, then I want out, right now.”

“It’s too late,” snapped Helene, eyes glued hatefully on Grace. “You’ve already drawn the card.”

Tony made several different faces in rapid succession. “Well...she has a point,” he said. “Only family has to play.”

“Grace, wait,” Alex said again, and the force with which he took her elbow gave her a chill. She quickly shook free.

“I’m leaving now,” she said, and she turned to leave the room.

She should have had a microphone to drop, but whatever triumph she might have felt began to quickly drain away as Alex chased after her. “Honey, hold on,” he said, and when she had to pause to open the double doors leading out, it gave him the chance to try to take her arm again. “Let’s go back to the room—”

Grace yanked out of his grip. “Don’t touch me,” she said firmly, and she locked eyes with him so that he’d be sure she meant it. “Alex, it’s over. I’m going to get my things and go home.” She shoved the doors open and continued into the hall. “Don’t follow me.”

He pursued. By then the rest of the family was as well, hanging back and sharing harsh whispers, but it was Alex that frightened her then. This Alex still had his brother, he hadn’t watched her bludgeon his mother to death, but he was still right behind her, and what sounded like hurt in his voice was just another lie. “Grace, please, let’s talk. We can leave—absolutely, we can leave, we can annul the marriage if that’s what you want. It was your idea to get married in the—”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Grace snapped, whipping toward him even though she didn’t break stride. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

She continued on. Still he followed. “Okay...okay. We’ll annul it. We’ll start over. But don’t—” His patience suddenly frayed, and he dragged her firmly to a halt. “Don’t walk away from me, _please_.”

Grace tried to throw him off again, but that time he fought back, his sweaty fingers digging bruises into her skin. “Don’t fucking touch me,” Grace snarled, but he wasn’t listening to her, just continuing to ramble on about what _she_ supposedly wanted while the rest of his family crowded closer. “Get fucking off me!”

“Alex, come on,” Daniel intervened, tried to ease the two of them apart. “Let her go—you’re hurting her.”

“We still have to start,” Aunt Helene persisted angrily, and Grace realized with a start that she was already holding her axe. “She already pulled the card—we can’t let her leave, or we’re all dead!”

Tony tried to shush her, but her words were distraction enough that Grace was finally able to break free of Alex’s grasping hands. “You’re all fucking crazy!” she hollered, backing away. “This is how we _win_ , don’t you get it? I’m not your fucking family and no one has to die!”

Daniel took a step in front of her; she grabbed the back of his shirt, eager to keep him between her and Alex. “Aunt Helene, shut up,” he said calmly. “Listen to what she’s saying. We can all just walk away.”

Alex stared dazedly back at the two of them, and a far more recognizable emotion darkened his expression. He looked to Grace, clinging to his brother for protection, and then back. “Daniel, what are you doing?”

“Calm down,” said Daniel, and it could only make things worse, but when he reached behind him Grace took his hand. 

And Grace saw in Alex’s face then just how wrong she had always been about him. He didn’t need the excuse of the Devil’s gambit to show his true colors—he was _always_ going to hurt her eventually.

“Don’t let her leave!” Helene continued to rave, charging forward with her axe. “You all know what will happen!”

The truth of that declaration showed in Tony’s grimace, and he advanced only a step behind Alex. Grace turned to flee, trying to tug Daniel along, but he instead rose to meet his family, pushing against his father and brother in an attempt to keep them back.

“Grace, run!” he shouted, but they had already waited too long; Becky snatched Grace by the arm before she could get out of range, and she was soon joined by Charity and Fitch dragging her back. The hallway interrupted in an all out brawl of clawing hands and kicking heels, and when Grace felt Alex’s hand digging into her collar, she just about lost her mind. She screamed in his face and mauled his jaw with her nails, only to be heaved head first into the wall-length mirror with a devastating crash of glass.

She felt the shard slice through her throat, jagged and nauseating, and once again her mouth and lungs were full of blood. What a fucking awful way to go, she thought, as she crumpled to the floor. How many times had Daniel been suffocated by his own blood by then? Didn’t he say he was getting used to it? What fucking liar. 

Daniel managed to reach her just as she hit the hardwood, fingers slick and tight against the wound. “Grace,” he said quietly, close to her ear. “It’s okay. He’ll give you another chance.”

Choking and sputtering, Grace stared past him to where Alex stood overhead, pale and hyperventilating with horror at what he’d done, but not making a single move to help her. She hated him so much then that for the first time she was looking forward to another round. 

As soon as Grace woke up in the trophy room again, she shed her wedding ring and stormed out. Her heels clacked like gunshots as she marched into the west wing of the house where the family slept and found Charity’s tacky reproduction handbag with the revolver inside. It only had six shots so her aim had to be perfect, and even then she would have to improvise to finish them all off. At the moment, though, she didn’t care—her lungs were full of fire, and all she wanted and needed was for Alex to die at her hands.

The fucking _Hide and Seek_ song was still playing when Grace made her return entrance and opened fire like a woman possessed. The first shot was lucky: straight through Tony’s left eye as he stood there in his stupid robe, completely unprepared. The second wasn’t so great, raking across Becky’s ear as she tried to dive for cover, but it still took a chunk out of her skull. Fitch and Emilie, standing there gaping, were much easier to pick off, each crumbling with a shot to the chest.

Alex reached for her, shocked and shouting, and Grace put the last two bullets straight into his heart. His blood stained her dress red as he sank to his knees at her feet. 

“Grace,” he uttered, already shivering as he stared up at her as if _he_ were the one utterly betrayed. “Why?”

“I fucking hate you,” Grace spat, and she whipped the revolver across his temple so she wouldn’t have to look at him anymore.

“Grace!” Daniel shouted, and he moved forward just in time to catch the bullet meant for her. It passed straight through his chest—fuck she knew how much that sucked—and buried in Grace’s shoulder with a sickening impact. Once again, raging bitch Charity had found her mark. Despite the pain skittering outward from her wound at every movement, Grace ran at her. Charity’s second shot with the rifle pulled wide, diverted by sheer panic straight into Aunt Helene, but Grace didn’t flinch. It only took one punch to the nose to get Charity to release the weapon, and with nearly as much cold satisfaction as Grace had fixed on Alex, she turned the gun around and blew a hole through her pretty little skull.

The trophy room fell almost silent, except for the sickening gurgles of the dying. Grace hurried back to Daniel and helped lower him to the floor. “Daniel, hold on,” she said, forcing strength into her numbed hand as she applied pressure to his chest wound. “Stay with me.”

“Jesus.” Daniel blinked around the room in a daze. “You killed everyone.”

Grace froze, watching him; was this finally the moment he turned on her, too? The wrath that had driven her through carnage evaporated at the thought that she would still end up alone. But no—Daniel’s gaze was heavy with regret, but he took her hand and squeezed it tight. “Maybe that’s how you _win_ ,” he muttered. “Not by just surviving, but killing us all.”

“That’s crazy,” Grace retorted. She couldn’t continue any kind of dressing for his wound with him gripping her good hand, but when she tried to pull free he wouldn’t let go. “I mean, maybe that’s what Le Bail meant, but that’s fucking stupid. You’re not one of them and I’m not going to kill you!”

“I am, though.” Daniel gave her a sharp tug so that she would stop trying to slip out of his hand, and she did stop, unable to help meeting his gaze. “I _am_ one of them,” he said, blood beginning to show at his mouth. “Kill me.”

“No.” Grace shook her head. Despite having pulled the trigger so many times already, the thought of one more made her sick enough to want to vomit. “No, you couldn’t kill me—I’m not killing you, either. Okay? You’re not one of them and we’ll just wait it out.” She tried again with her half-dead hand to staunch his bleeding. “Please, Daniel.”

Daniel coughed wetly. “Not really my choice, but...okay.”

They curled up together against the wall, shivering as blood loss crept up on them both. Minutes ticked on with nothing but labored breath and the drip, drip, drip against the hardwood floors. Eventually one of the maids appeared and ran away, screaming. Grace left Daniel’s side long enough to fetch the rifle, and when Stevens poked his head inside to check on the goings-on, she put a few bullets in him just to be sure. Then she was back beside Daniel as he slowly bled to death, leaning against her shoulder.

“If you do have to kill us all,” said Daniel, his voice frail and wet, “I’ll try to make it easier on you next time.”

Grace shook her head. “Don’t.”

“I’ll just dive in front of your gun, okay? Don’t stop shooting.”

“That’s not fucking funny.” Grace swatted at her eyes. “Christ, it’s not like I’m going to go shoot those kids, either, even if they’re little shits. Killing children isn’t _winning_.”

“Okay.” Daniel sagged more deeply against her shoulder, and it hurt to try to keep him supported, but she refused to budge. “Fuck, I’m so sorry. I can’t believe Alex did that to you.” He sighed. “If only...we could go back further…”

“Shh.” Grace looked away, and unwittingly her burning eyes fell on Alex, curled up dead on the floor nearby. She wondered how far back they would have to go. Before she’d met him? Before Daniel had met Charity? Maybe she’d save herself, but the Le Domases had been fucked for a long time, doomed by an ancestor none of them had known. Whatever Alex had said about getting out, being better, if his own family was to be believed he was destined either to become exactly his father or explode into chunks. Fate had drawn no other options for him.

“Why doesn’t Alex remember when we reset?” Grace mused aloud, watching his bulging eyes as if they might blink at any moment. “Helene said he’s seen Le Bail, too.”

Daniel coughed weakly. “Nuh-uh. That was...me.” Every word was becoming more strained; Grace’s skin crawled knowing he didn’t have much time left. “When we...were kids, I saw him. That night Uncle Charles…” He had to stop for a moment to spit blood from his mouth. “I told Alex I wasn’t going to tell anyone...so he did. For the attention.”

“Little shit,” Grace muttered, though then she paused. “Then why did Le Bail let _you_ see him? That time _and_ this time?”

“Dunno.” Daniel shuddered and then grew slack. “Asshole…”

He stopped moving. Grace stayed very still for a long time, waiting to feel the slight rise and fall against her side that meant he was still breathing. Nothing. She’d watched him die so many times that it was hard to feel hurt anymore, but she stayed next to him, slowly bleeding out herself. Growing colder, colder by the minute. Missing him. 

“Le Bail,” she said into the room. “Why are Daniel and I the only ones who know this is happening?” He didn’t answer, but her heart began to pound as if it knew the answer anyway, and she closed her eyes.

Grace woke again in the trophy room determined it would be the last time that Daniel had to die for her.

“We play hide and seek,” said Alex, vibrating. “Those are the rules, right Dad?”

“Yes,” said Tony. “Those are the rules.”

Grace and Daniel exchanged a long look across the table. He sure looked ready to jump in front of another bullet for her, no matter which direction it was coming from. “Déjà vu,” she said, and he nodded, even if he might have only understood half of what she meant.

Alex looked at her, concerned and confused. “What?”

“Nothing.” Grace offered a wild grin to the rest of the table. “Oookay, guess I’d better go hide!” 

“Meet me in my room,” Alex whispered to her, and she gave him a wink before strolling out the door.

Out in the hall, Grace let the mask fall. She took off her heels and left them, and on bare feet ran to Daniel’s room. Her heart was beating wildly again but her hands were sure and unfaltering as she emptied out Charity’s purse, saving only the revolver and then shoving one of Daniel’s shirts and a pair of boxers inside. Thank god rich people had others to do their laundry regularly.

On her way out again, Grace heard Clara the maid back on her regular rounds. After only a beat of hesitation she changed course to intercept, waving and hissing for her attention.

Clara regarded her warily. Whatever her boss had told her about what to expect that night, it sure must have been something. She came toward Grace on cautious steps. “Miss?”

“You need to get your friends and find a place to hide,” Grace whispered. “As close to one of the doors as you can, so that you can get out when the doors open back up. Stay out of sight or they’re going to kill you.”

Clara leaned back and looked away, as if for her employer. “I’m sorry, I’m not supposed to speak to you after midnight.”

“ _They’re going to kill you_ ,” Grace insisted, and it looked like it started to sink in. “They’re trying to kill _me_ , and that makes you a witness, understand? The three of you are expendable. Think of how they treat you already!” Grace honestly didn’t have any idea, but the look that came over Clara’s face said enough. “Please, lock the kids in their room and then find a place to hide with Tina and Dora. The police will be here in the morning.”

“O-Okay.” Clara nodded and, seeing Grace’s bare feet, she slipped out of her clunky heels as well. “Okay. Um, thanks.”

“Stay safe,” said Grace, and she found her way into the walls so she could head to the conservatory.

Daniel was waiting for her there, and just as he started to ask about her having Charity’s purse, she dropped it so she could take his face and kiss him.

She just wanted to know. She’d lived a dozen times with Daniel at her side, they’d killed and died for each other—why shouldn’t she know what he tasted like? He must have thought the same, because after a moment of surprise had passed he didn’t hesitate or question; he wrapped her up and kissed her, desperate and hungry for it, and they stumbled together against the wall of the corridor.

Grace leaned back enough to look Daniel in the face. “Hey,” she panted. “Help me out of this fucking dress.”

Daniel licked his lips. “Okay.”

She kissed him again as he unzipped her wedding dress. His nails scraped as he stripped her out of the lace, peeling it from her back and arms as if helping her shed layers of skin. His mouth was hot and tasted like bourbon instead of blood. Together they freed her from the clinging bodice and tangled skirt, but they didn’t stop there; she wanted his hands on her to erase the fingerprints left there before him, and he was eager to oblige. He pushed her back to the wall, kissed her lips nearly to bruising with greater confidence than he’d devoted to anything thus far. When his rough fingers plunged down the front of her panties Grace smothered curses against his mouth, hating that she had ever settled for a lesser man.

Maybe this wouldn’t make a difference, either. Grace squirmed, panting against Daniel’s mouth as he stroked her clit. She arched into his expert touch and couldn’t help but wonder if this was all part of Le Bail’s fucked up plan for them—a momentary, carnal reprieve before they were forced to march again into Hell. But shit, it felt good to be alive. Grace yanked Daniel’s pants open and was relieved to know she even still _could_ be glad to be alive. She wasn’t alone, and she was still enough herself to want and to feel and to _fight_ and to _fuck_ and not even Satan himself could take that from her.

Daniel kissed her breathless and took her by the hips. “Are you sure you—”

“ _Yes_ I’m sure,” Grace hissed, one hand clenched hard on his shoulder while the other guided his cock free. “Fucking do it.”

Daniel let out a huff of laughter. “See?” he teased. “Charming.”

He hiked Grace up and thrust into her. Grace’s eyelids fluttered as she braced herself, trying to support as much of her own weight as she could and prepared to drop one foot if she had to, but Daniel didn’t seem to need her help; he was stronger than he looked and he fucked like he had something to prove. Every hard pump of his hips felt like an affirmation, and Grace has to clench her jaws tight to keep from moaning aloud. Urgency blurred into ecstasy and she clung to him, gasping and swearing, until overcome with a fiery orgasm that Daniel answered soon after.

They stayed pressed together for a while afterward, holding their breath as they listened for any sounds within the house. Half of Grace hoped that Alex and Charity would turn the corner and catch them, just to prove they were free of them. When it became clear that no one had heard them after all—and when Daniel’s arms began to shake from the effort of holding her—they cautiously separated.

“Hell,” panted Daniel, smoothing his sweaty hear back. “That probably wasn’t a good idea, but…”

“Yeah. God damn.” Grace cleaned up as best she could with her discarded panties and then tossed them aside. She offered Daniel a grimace of a smile as she dug into Charity’s purse. “Sorry to be super awkward, but now I have to go kill your whole family.”

Daniel leaned his back to the opposite wall as he tucked himself back into his pants. He winced, and shook his head, and didn’t know what to say. “No, I...yeah. I know.”

Grace pulled on Daniel’s shirt and boxers. “I want you to stay here,” she said as she dressed. “I know my way around the house now, and it’ll be easier to stay hidden that way.”

“I’m not letting you do this alone,” Daniel said quickly. 

“And I’m not letting you jump in front of my gun,” Grace shot back. She pulled the revolver out of the purse. “Plus it’s still your family. You shouldn’t have to do this.”

“Neither should you.” Daniel shook his head again, with greater insistence. “At least let me handle Fitch and Charity.”

Grace eyed him, doubtful but not without sympathy. “We’ve done this a whole lot now, and you haven’t been able to stand up to your wife even once. Are you sure you’re up for it?”

Daniel pulled a face, but he wrangled his courage in quickly enough. His expression grew hard. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

Grace nodded slowly. “Okay. Try to get her alone, if you can. It’ll be easier to pick them off if they don’t know you’re helping me.” He still looked a little pale, so she pressed a short kiss to his lips. “Be careful, okay?” She gulped. “I won’t feel like I’ve won anything unless I can save you, too.”

Daniel’s shoulders fell. He clearly didn’t think that was even possible, but he did nod. “Same to you,” he said, and with one more kiss for good luck they split up.

Grace made her way back to the trophy room. She felt good about the revolver but with only six shots she was eager to have a backup. The Le Domases had moved on by then, searching the house, and she slipped into that god damn room for the who-the-fuck-knew-whatevrith-time to retrieve her arsenal.

The elephant rifle taunted her from the wall. Grace flipped it off again as she passed to a cabinet in the opposite wall full of ammunition. As she pawed through it, looking for a reloader that might fit Charity’s revolver, she found tucked at the very back a large, black box with a gold label. Something about it piqued her interest and she dragged it into the room’s warm candlelight.

It was a box of .700 caliber nitro express rifle cartridges, each one almost five inches long and as thick around as two fingers. There were only five left, but more than enough to make one hell of a statement. Grace snatched them up and raced back to the rifle on the wall. After replacing the first several shells on the ammo belt and draping it over her shoulders, she shoved the revolver into her bra and grabbed up the rifle itself.

It felt heavy and _right_ in her hands, even more so now that she was free of white lace and tulle. With determination aflame in her belly she raced to the service kitchen.

Stevens the butler was already there, singing poorly to himself as he boiled water for tea, his hands up and gesturing like an orchestral conductor. Grace entered the room and had plenty of time to take the shot, but she waited for a moment. She wanted him to _see_.

At last Stevens noticed her presence, and he turned. Just as she’d hoped, his eyes fell on the ammo belt and he smirked just faintly with amusement. He turned toward her.

“Hi, Stevens,” said Grace, stock to her shoulder and finger on the trigger as he took a step forward. “I know you don’t remember this, but I owe you a bullet.”

“Oh?” Stevens arched an eyebrow.. “One of _those_ bullets?”

“Uh-uh.”

His grin grew slimier, if that was possible. “I think you’ll have a hard time giving it to me, little girl.”

Grace fought back the urge to gag. “What do you mean?” she asked. There wasn’t enough fear left in her to even fake it for him. “Don’t I just...pull the trigger?”

“Oh, sure.” Steven stopped with the barrel only inches from his chest. “Give it a try.”

“‘Kay,” said Grace, and she squeezed.

The gun rocked against her shoulder hard enough to bruise, barrel leaping toward the ceiling with the force. Grace was caught off guard and it took her a moment to refocus on the result; Stevens collapsing backwards, face contorted in shock and anguish, a hole where his rib cage was meant to be. Muscles and organs collapsed into the open space when he hit the ground. He didn’t have lungs enough to even gurgle as he died, gushing blood across the kitchen floor.

“Fuck,” Grace said, impressed. With her ears still ringing she loaded another cartridge, reminding herself to only pull from the top. 

Footsteps sounded behind her, and Grace whipped around. She waited only long enough to confirm it was Tony rounding the corner before she fired again, and his entire head just fucking exploded like an overripe melon. So much for the Le Domas patriarch, and as close to Le Bail’s punishment as little old mortal her could give him. 

Grace ducked into the servant’s corridor. Alex must have seen her on the cameras by then, if the night was playing out more like that first horrible chase. He might have looked past her shooting Stevens, but his father was a much harder pill to swallow, and she had no idea at what point he’d turn on her. She’d kill him either way, but she kind of hoped he gave her a fresh excuse before then.

She let another two hours go by. The family gathered together after finding Tony’s body and she didn’t want to take them all on together, not with coke-head Emilie still in possession of the disturbingly effective .45. Above Aunt Helene’s objections Becky took Charity with her to go check the security cameras, while Fitch and Emilie retreated to their room.

If they were hiding out to get high, they’d be distracted. Grace crept after them, pulse swift with the hunt. If she could get a clear enough angle, she might even be able to kill them both with a single shot and save Daniel the trouble of shooting his brother-in-law. She followed them to their room and was relieved when they crowded around a short table to prepare a line together. 

“This bitch knows what she’s doing,” Fitch whined as Emilie cried next to him. “She’s going after the men first—it’ll be Daniel next, and then me. That prick Alex must have warned her.”

“Oh God,” Emilie whimpered, so far gone in panic that she couldn’t collect herself enough to even snort the drugs. “Oh, Daddy!”

They’d left the door wide open, giving Grace plenty of angle for her to line up a shot. Her bare feet made barely a sound as she maneuvered into the perfect position, but as she curled her finger over the trigger, another door inside the room creaked open. 

The pair lifted their heads toward it, and Grace jerked her aim just enough to avoid hitting the intruder, too. The rifle thundered in her hands and Emilie was mangled and dead before even knowing she was in danger. Fitch screeched like a slapped pig and his crossbow went off. The bolt disappeared into the secret corridor and the _thunk_ of it hitting something beyond tightened Grace’s stomach. She stormed into the room, rounding the table enough for a clean shot that split Fitch apart at the collar and cracked the drywall behind him. 

Grace’s breath heaved with the unexpectedly messy confrontation as she turned toward the service corridor. “Daniel? Is that you.”

“Shit. Yeah.” The door swung open and Daniel stumbled out; the crossbow bolt was embedded in his hip, blood beginning to soak into his pant leg. 

Grace cursed and hurried over. She set the rifle down against the wall so she could reach for the arrow. “Hold still.”

“No—no.” Daniel urged her hands back. “It’s in the bone. Leave it.”

“Christ.” He looked unsteady but Grace still gave him a shove in frustration. “Damn it, Daniel, this is why I said you should stay back!”

He sighed with self-deprecation. “Yeah, okay, I know.” He wrapped both hands around the bolt close to where it had punctured him. “But I’m still not letting you do this by yourself.”

He tried to snap the bolt in two, but all he managed was to jerk the tip in his side so hard that he almost passed out. Grace continued to swear as she supported him. “Don’t you have sheers or a bolt cutter or something?” she suggested. “You’re not going to get far with that sticking out of you.”

“There’s a tool room in the servants’ quarters, yeah.” Daniel hefted his rifle and forced himself a few steps forward to prove he could still walk. He wiped the sweat from his brow. “We might be able to hole up for a while there.”

They left the bedroom, only to be immediately confronted by Emilie’s two young boys. Grace’s heart skipped and she threw up her hand just as the elder boy lifted and fired his mother’s pistol.

Grace’s palm burst open in a spray of blood, and she screamed, for fury as much as for pain. After _everything_ , over half a dozen games, caught again by the same brat. Daniel surged forward despite his wound, swinging his rifle by the muzzle as if it were a baseball bat to smack the weapon out of Georgie’s hand. It went flying, and both boys turned to flee, shouting, “Over here! She’s in Mom’s room!”

“Fuck!” Grace snarled after them, but she knew she didn’t have the strength to wield her rifle one-handed even if she _could_ have found it in herself to shoot a fleeing child in the back. She pressed her wounded hand to her stomach and tried to wrap Daniel’s shirt up and and around it as securely as possible. “That fucking monster, _again_!”

“We have to keep going,” said Daniel, but footsteps were already racing closer, and the two of them were slow to resume the chase. By the time he scooped up the elephant gun for her and they started on, several figures had rounded the corner, and someone called out Grace’s name.

It was Alex. Though Grace knew better, she turned, and their eyes met yet again. He took in the state of her borrowed clothes and Daniel beside her and his eyes went swiftly dead.

“Grace?” he called again, as if they were the only two people there, and they were falling away from each other. 

“Stay the fuck away from me!” Grace hollered, and she reached under her shirt to draw the revolver. “Any closer and I’ll shoot both your balls off, I swear it!”

Alex came forward. Becky and Charity were beside him, but the attack came from behind; Helene struck Daniel in the back of the skull with her axe handle, sending him crashing to the ground. Grace went hot with panic and tried to aim the revolver, but by then the blade end was rushing toward her. She got enough of both hands to the handle to slow the axe’s momentum, but not enough to stop it—not enough to prevent the metal from carving into her chest. It cut a narrow gash across her sternum and she screamed, using what remained of her strength to shove Helene back. There were too many of them—she fired wildly and heard a scream but couldn’t tell whose it was. 

Alex wrapped his arm around her neck, and Grace screamed for as long as she had the breath for it, her nails drawing blood from his forearms. Of all the fates she’d suffered, death in his arms _had_ to be the worst, and she fought with all her strength. But he squeezed until her body grew heavy, and cold, and the world went dark.

Grace opened her eyes she didn’t know how long after. Once again, she was in the trophy room, but her hand was still throbbing and missing its center, her chest burning with agony and limbs tied to the table. They hadn’t started over; they had reached the end.

Grace twisted and tried to call out, but her mouth had been tightly gagged. She yanked and writhed and gnawed at the fabric between her teeth. Three figures stood around the table, two in black robes—Helene? Charity?—while Alex stood back in his white button down, blood on his shirt and bitterness in his face.

“You’re awake?” he asked, and Grace continued to struggle, scraping her wrists and ankles raw on the ropes. He leaned over her. “Grace. Why are you wearing Daniel’s clothes?”

Grace glared back at him with defiance and snorted loudly through her nose. It was the best she could do to get him to know the truth, and it seemed to sink in. Alex leaned back, his body taut and ready. “I was trying to help you,” he said coldly, and Grace growled curses into her gag. “I was going to get you out. But you…” His eyes filled with angry tears. “You killed both my parents—you fucked my _brother_?”

He gestured vaguely to one side, and Grace craned her neck as best she could to see around him. Daniel was nearby, bound and gagged like she was except to a chair. His eyelashes were fluttering wildly as he tried to regain his senses. 

“I knew you were trash,” said Charity, and when she slipped her hand into Alex’s, he allowed it. “Even if you hadn’t pulled that card, you never would have belonged in this family.”

“Fhhucking bicchh!” Grace hollered back, still yanking helplessly on the ropes. 

“Come on—we have to complete the ritual,” Aunt Helene scolded. “There’s not much time left!”

She moved behind Grace’s head and began to chant, spouting the same Latin-ish nonsense that Grace remembered from her first trip through hell. Alex and Charity joined her, their hands still clasped, each watching Grace with disgust and anticipation. Grace screamed and yanked as hard as she could, but nothing was about to give and there wasn’t much time.

In desperation she looked to Daniel. She couldn’t bank on poison now, but he was still fighting, too; to her surprise, he had used the crossbow bolt still sticking out of his hip to slip the gag off his mouth, and was in turn bearing down on the wooden shaft with his teeth. His groans were covered up by Helene’s demonic prayers as he yanked the bolt free.

“Shem Hamephorash!” Helene shouted as Daniel folded in his chair, passing the bolt to his hands. He twisted the point about to begin tearing through the less durable linen restraints binding his wrists. “Shem Hamephorash!”

“Shem Hamephorash!” Alex and Charity chanted back, raising their hands as Helene raised her dagger. 

Grace’s eyes darted back and forth between Daniel, tearing free of his bonds, and the tip of the knife gleaming in the candlelight. “Wait!” she cried as best she could, desperate for only a few moments. She shuddered all over at the thought of feeling that knife enter her heart after so much struggle. Had Le Bail the sore loser only ever forced her through this for the sake of winning himself? She tried to drag him out of the dark corners of the room with her gaze alone. “Wait!”

Daniel broke free and threw himself at Helene. He plunged the crossbow bolt into her stomach and shoved, diverting the knife far enough that it sank its blade into the table close by Grace’s bound wrist. Grace could have whooped for joy as he threw the old woman to the ground. But there wasn’t time for even a moment’s celebration; Alex punched him straight in the face, and the two of them fell away from the table, grappling roughly.

Grace squirmed, twisting her arm enough that she could scrape the ropes binding her up against the knife blade. It worked, but just as she freed her hand, Charity snatched up the dagger. “I’ll finish this myself you little _whore_ ,” she growled.

Grace grabbed her by the collar of her robe and pulled with all her might; unprepared, Charity was yanked forward hard enough to smack her forehead on the table with a satisfying _crack_. She unwittingly surrendered the dagger before collapsing to the floor. With the brothers still at each others’ throats somewhere in the room Grace sawed and hacked at the remaining ropes holding her, until she was able to claw her way off the table. “Daniel?”

She got no answer except for choked sputterings, and at last she spotted the pair up against the far wall; Alex had Daniel on his back, had both hands around his throat. Without heart or hesitation Grace marched up and planted the dagger into her new husband’s back.

He cried out in shock, and with his hands slackened, Daniel managed to fight his way free. Grace hauled him upright and they ran, bursting through the double doors into the hall, sprinting away from Alex screaming in wordless anger at their backs.

They ended in the dining room. As they braced themselves against the long table, gasping for breath and wary for pursuers, Grace found her gaze drawn to the chair at the head, just in front of the fireplace. It was glowing with warm, red light from more than just the hearth, and after a few bleary moments Grace understood—morning was starting to creep through the velvet curtains. She looked to the clock: 6:15 am.

“We made it,” Grace breathed. She looked to Daniel with a grin. “I think we did it.”

Daniel returned her enthusiasm with doubt. “We didn’t do anything differently.”

“We did though—you survived this time.” Grace pushed one of his hands to his hip, encouraging him to put pressure on the crossbow wound. “Every other time Charity has killed you before time ran out, but _this_ time, you’re alive.”

Daniel sagged against the arm of one of the dining room chairs. “Not for long.”

“No—no, it’s okay.” Grace touched his face; her stomach was in her throat, which was weird, because she knew she was right and everything was going to work out. “You’re special—Le Bail likes you. He must, that’s why you can see him! So you’re not going to blow up when time runs out, like the others. You haven’t before--it's always been Charity that killed you.”

“But I have, though,” Daniel said, his manner so heavy with resignation that all Grace’s hope deflated. “When Alex killed you in the hallway.”

Grace shook her head. All the different rounds were blurring together, but she did remember the glass cutting through her throat while Alex stared down on her, Daniel’s hands trying to stop up her gushing throat. “No. No, I died, and then we woke up together in the room—”

“ _After_ all of us died,” Daniel insisted gently, and Grace’s heart sank into her aching feet. “We sat in that room together until dawn. I watched them all disappear, and then…” He shivered. “I had my turn, too. Then I woke up like you did.”

“But then…” Grace continued to shake her head. She refused to believe it—she had finally saved him, she had been so sure of it. But she could only cling to denial for so long until it broiled into painful frustration, grinding out of her. “Then how?” she hollered, throwing her hands up. “How do I do it? How the fuck—”

“Grace.” Daniel caught her wrists and held them until she had no choice but to look him in the eye. “It’s okay,” he said, and he even managed a shaky smile. “This isn’t about me—you don’t have to try to save me. You can’t. Just keep trying to save yourself.” He took a deep breath. “Next time, kill them all.”

Grace tried to tug free so she could slap the tears threatening to well in her eyes, but Daniel wouldn’t let go. “Kill _us_ all,” he said. “Maybe you can light the house on fire, and I’ll hole up in the control room to make sure the doors stay shut except for you.”

“No.” Grace fought against him, ready to punch his lights out if he suggested that again. “I’m not—let me go, Daniel!”

“Promise me you’ll kill us all,” he persisted. “If that’s what Le Bail wants—”

“No! Fuck you!”

Grace ripped her hands free and began to pace. Her chest tightened as if claws were threaded through her ribs, squeezing relentlessly, and it was hard to draw a breath let alone think. _Think_ , she told herself anyway. She pulled her gag fully off and started to wrap it around her mangled hand. Her fingers twitched but were numb. _In a few minutes the sun will be up and he’ll explode._ She glanced to Daniel, and he looked so calm and resigned that it made her sick. She already knew what the room would look like then, splattered in his blood. _They all explode at dawn, except for…_

The claws loosened, but Grace still couldn’t quite breathe as she stared at Le Bail’s empty chair. “Okay, you devil mother fucker,” she said under her breath. “If this doesn’t work, you had better at least give me one more chance.”

Daniel frowned. “What?”

Grace darted back to David and took hold of the gag that was still dangling from his neck. “There’s not much time,” she said, “so don’t fight.”

“What?” said Daniel, but then Grace kicked him in the hip, and with a yelp he dropped to his knees. The breath rushed out of him and she twisted the cloth gag around his throat to keep any more from going back in. It fucking hurt, forcing her wounded hand to grip the cloth tightly enough to strangle. She yanked it as high as she could so that the ligature dug in just below Daniel’s jaw, cutting off his breath and the blood flow to his brain as effectively as she knew how.

He fought, at first; instinct drove his hands to hers, and his fingers hooking into the hole in her palm almost made he throw up. But then...he stopped. He wrapped his arms around her thighs, diverted his painful grip to her legs as he choked and gagged into her stomach. It took longer than Grace wanted and she shook all over, as several times Daniel started to struggle and then forced himself down. Why did it take so long? Her arms were burning with strain by the time Daniel went slack, and she released him along with a sob.

His body hit the floor, and as Grace collapsed onto her knees next to him, she looked up and found Alex watching her from the open door.

Oh, that fucking face of his. That horror, that loss, even after having come so close to strangling his own brother to death himself only a few minutes ago. Tears spilled down his cheeks but that didn’t make him less of a monster. He took a breath to speak, but nothing he had left to say was worth anything, and he was interrupted by a terrible, wet sound coming from the trophy room. Blood sloshed out into the hall, and even without looking, the recognition of what was coming filled and widened Alex’s eyes. He looked to Grace in childlike terror.

“Goodbye, Alex,” Grace said, and she watched, unblinking, as his body disintegrated into red dust.

Silence. Grace held her breath, needing to be sure as she held tightly onto Daniel's hand. There was no reason to liquefy the dead, was there? A minute ticked by, and she wasn’t sure her heart beat let alone did she breathe. Nothing happened.

When Grace was confident that everyone else in the house had gone poof, she turned back to Daniel’s dead body, still whole on the floor, and ripped the cloth from around his neck. “Breathe,” she begged, straining to remember what the hell to do as she tipped his chin back and pinched his nose. She sealed her mouth to his and forced what shaky air she had down his throat. “Fucking breathe!”

She tried again, but nothing stirred. She tried to check for a pulse but her own heart had resumed and was pounding too fiercely for her to tell. “Oh, fuck,” she whispered as she braced her palms to his chest. “You’d better come back to life because this is going to suck.”

Grace pushed all her strength down through her arms and into his chest and got agony screaming up through her in return. Her elbows buckled and she couldn’t keep from sobbing as the small, shattered bones in her hand ground against each other. “Fuck, fuck, shit,” she hissed as she braced herself and tried again, this time forcing herself not to relent. Again and again she thrust the meat of her palm into his heart, turning each cry of pain into a shout of defiance.

“Breathe, you mother fucker!” Grace yelled, her shoulders and wrists threatening to rattle apart. Her arms gave out again so she returned to his mouth for another long breath. “You stupid piece of—”

Daniel jerked, coughing and gagging. Grace was shaking so hard herself she didn’t even realize at first; she shoved her mouth onto his again and startled when he groaned between them. She flew back with a curse only to lean over him again. “Daniel? Daniel, fucking say something.”

“Fuu…” Daniel rubbed his chest and neck as he struggled to draw in breath under his own power. It took a few tries and he needed Grace’s help to sit up. “Ow...fuck,” he groaned. “You killed me.”

“You told me to,” Grace retorted, not taking her eyes off him. There was still a chance he would explode into bits, and she couldn’t stop clinging to his shirt, as if having her as an anchor would prevent that sloppy fate somehow. As the moments thudded past, the anticipation drew her tight enough almost to fainting, and Daniel had to offer a hand to her shoulder.

“Grace,” said a man’s voice, but it wasn’t Daniel.

Dread and wrath lit a fire in Grace’s chest, and she moved around Daniel to separate him from the head of the table before turning to look. As she expected, Le Bail was back in the chair, a smokey outline of a tremendous asshole that she had no idea how to react to. He was watching her with amusement, though whether it was meant to be approval for a job well done, or smug condescension that heralded another spin of the wheel, she couldn’t tell. Still she stood and faced him, barefoot and bloody, face streaked with tears but hardened with conviction. She stared him down and didn’t flinch.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” she said.

Le Bail’s little smile grew wider. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied. “But feel free to call on me, should you need me again.” And he vanished in a puff of smoke.

Daniel pulled himself to his feet behind her, one arm still cradling his chest and his voice rough. “What does that mean?” he asked.

“It means let’s get the hell out of here,” said Grace, and she kicked Le Bail’s chair into the fire.

It didn’t fit all the way into the hearth, which was just as well; flames immediately engulfed the dry wood and spread down the back and legs. Cinders flaked off across the floors and ash stained the curtains. With time and without anyone to prevent it, the fire would surely spread. Grace ignored it as she wrapped her arm carefully around Daniel’s midsection, and the two of them limped out of the house together.

They sat down on the steps overlooking the lawn, where twelve hours earlier Grace had stared into Alex’s eyes and called him husband. Now his remains were splattered across a lonely hallway, flames slowly chewing their way up the walls. She ached for a cigarette, but Daniel was a decent enough replacement. They stayed close together as police sirens wailed in the distance. 

“I don’t get it,” Daniel admitted, his voice still rough. “Did you win?”

“Yeah.” Grace nodded, letting that knowledge filter through her with greater and greater certainty. “Yeah, I finally fucking won.” She cast him a sideways look. “Didn’t I say I wouldn’t feel like I’d ‘won’ until I saved you, too?”

Daniel stared back at her, speechless. “I don’t know if that’s really what Le Bail meant,” Grace admitted. “Fucking asshole. But the first time...I didn’t really feel like I’d ‘won’ anything. All I did was survive.”

Daniel waited patiently for her to say more, but she didn’t know what else there was. A lifetime ago she had sat on the same steps, an empty shell who had gained nothing from a night of torture. Now she had beat the Le Domases and the Devil himself at their own games. Maybe that was the bloodloss’s logic, but for the moment, she felt triumph instead of exhaustion. That could come later.

“Well,” said Daniel, “I guess it won’t hurt to have someone else telling the police what happened.”

Grace cocked her head. “Yeah. Really not sure what I was going to tell them the first time.” 

Red and blue lights flashed at the gate, and Grace smiled with relief to see the three maids hurrying down the driveway to let them in. She found it hard to believe that Le Bail had included the trio in his win conditions, either, but it felt pretty good to see them alive and well. 

“Maybe that was part of it,” Daniel supposed. “Le Bail liked you enough to want you to win without going to prison. You might even get some money out of the estate.”

“He’s the Devil; I’m not sure if it’s even worth it to wonder what motivates him.” They likely only had a few minutes of privacy left before the world became a cop-hospital-media circus, so she found his hand and squeezed it. “Daniel...thank you. I know it wasn’t easy for you to help me.”

Daniel smiled distantly. “I needed your help more than you needed mine. So…thanks.” He cast her a sideways glance. “You know, of all the things we tried, you never once suggested letting the ritual go through.”

Grace snorted. “Of course not. That’s nowhere near my definition of ‘winning.’” She sighed as she stretched her bare feet out of in front of her. “Shit, though. We’re gonna be so fucked up after this.”

“Well, you know, that’s what therapy is for. And alcohol.” Daniel offered a dry, but hopeful, smile. “And company.”

“Yes,” Grace agreed, smiling back. “Yes to all three.”

They huddled close together, leaning on each other until the paramedics arrived.


End file.
